The fiery particles from his mouth
hot like Sahara sand
strike like a cobra

the throaty sound
of his angry vomit
an upheaval
fission of his hurt
and words etched behind his forehead
by bible, Bubba, and mama.

The radioactive barbs
from his explosion
assault and penetrate
like a swarm of bees
sticking to the wet lacquer
on the wood of my pride.

In the darkness
of my momentary retreat
the faint voice of my mind
tells my ears
to clear away
the tangled thicket
and the earnest conceptions
of my family
to notice the confusion of dust
moving above the dark fathoms
of my limits and fears.

Then a blue whisper
awakens my slumbering heart
a soft breeze waves
the liquid dance
of a strawflower
on its supple stem
as it faces the sun
and invites me to listen
for the light hidden
in the cave of his rage

and to feel for the softness
of his fragile truth.

09/13/2005

Posted on 09/13/2005
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier